


Begin Again

by ToasterTacoWriter



Category: bangtan sonyeondan, bts
Genre: Alternate Universe, Comedy, Drama, Fanfic, Fantasy, Fiction, Fictional, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-12 18:17:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18015908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToasterTacoWriter/pseuds/ToasterTacoWriter
Summary: Kim Namjoon is broken, is there anyone that can save him now?





	1. 'Why do we hurt? Why do we feel pain?'

**Author's Note:**

> A story made from a wish I secretly make sometimes, when life becomes too dark.

Namjoon keeps his head down and shuts his eyes. 

Out of sight, out of mind.

That's what his mother always says whenever she watches the evening news. 

But he still hears the whispers all around him, can feel them staring.

Gripping the fabric of his sleeves, he recites the multiplication table in his mind:

Fifty- five times fifty-four is two thousand nine hundred seventy, Fifty- five times fifty-five is -

Water splatters against his suede shoes, his entire body drenched in freezing cold water.

Namjoon jumps up, knocks over his chair and slips on the marbled floor. His forehead smashes into the corner of a desk as he falls.

He doesn't know why he opens his eyes; the entire class mocking and jeering, all their phones directed at him.

There's a horrible searing pain that's shooting through his head. He's shaking, touches his own face, opens his mouth to scream and it terrifies him that he can't hear his own voice.

Someone, save me! Please save me!

But everything is silent and he can't see a thing.

Maybe, this is all for the best.

 

.  
.  
.

Namjoon bites her bottom lip, unhooks her bra and slams her head against the window.  
She gasps, moaning against his ministrations.

"You like it like that huh?"

He smirks.

The next morning, she wakes up to a few hundreds and an empty bed.

Namjoon's mother slaps his face. Manicured nails grazing his cheek. He could see the tears falling across her face, the wrinkles in the corners of her thin lips,

"You're just like your father. Disgusting and worthless."

She doesn't look back, leaves him standing on the driveway.

He lingers there, even as the sun sets into twilight. Namjoon knows what his mother means, but a small part of his heart hopes...

For what?

"I don't even know anymore."

Namjoon stares at his dirt-covered sneakers, hands in his pockets as he wanders around the streets of Seoul city. Wasting what's left of his money on booze and women. He doesn't care anymore. He has no support and no future. 

Against the purple haze of neon lights, he touches his forehead.

His mother cried her eyes out back then. Caring for him, gentle voice calling him "my precious son". 

He was only thirteen years old. 

At the tender age of thirteen, Namjoon realized who he really was and that was his greatest mistake...

Telling his friend that he was more than a friend because Namjoon believed in him. Because that boy was nice.

But nice doesn't mean kind or understanding. It doesn't mean he would feel the same way he felt either. And Namjoon wished he realized that sooner.

Taunting and horrible pranks.

Missing school shoes and uniforms to change into after p.e. 

Disgust and envy morphing into hatred when, no matter what they did to Namjoon, he still had grades good enough to be a candidate for class valedictorian. 

That someone like him was better than they could ever be.

He bled so much that day, enough to leave him in a coma for three months.

And in that time span, he lost his father too. 

Then again, his father was always a lost cause.

Namjoon grimaces. He gathers his clothes scattered across the floor, stuffs them into his bag, not sparing a glance at the disheveled stranger on the bed.

.  
.  
.

Something pokes Namjoon's arm.

He grunts, shoves whatever is bothering him and goes back to sleep.

However, it doesn't stop.

So he punches and kicks until his fist connects with something soft.

"Ow!"

Sounds like a person....

Mom? 

Namjoon immediately opens his eyes, vision adjusting to the dim light by the park bench. He glares.

"Who the hell are you?"

The man is rubbing the side of his cheek, oddly round eyes glaring back at him.  
He clears his throat and straightens his clean white suit before extending his hand.

"Kim Seokjin, Fairy godfather, wishing I wasn't here right now but I didn't fly across dimensions for nothing!"

.  
.  
.

"Fuck off. I'm not interested. "

Namjoon grabs his bag, briskly walks away. He shoves his hands in his pockets and contemplates sprinting out of the park. He should've slept on the bus stop area instead. There were always creepy people prowling around the park at night, didn't he learn that lesson two months ago after kicking that one middle-aged man jacking off behind the bushes.

Fucking shit.

Namjoon sighs in relief when he enters the bright convenience store. 

He pays for a hot cup of coffee and sits down on one of the chairs near the window. There's an elderly woman pushing a cart full of cardboard, picking up discarded bottles and cans by the roadside. An office worker tosses a plastic container at a trash bin but misses. He answers a phone call leaving the old woman to crouch down and pick it up instead. 

Namjoon gets up, counts the money he has left and purchases a couple more items from the store. 

He walks over to the old woman who smiles weakly at him.

"Let me push that cart for you granny."

She tells him he doesn't have to do that.

"But I want to."

Namjoon gives her the plastic bag full of food and a bottle of water. He grips the wooden handle and asks her where she's going.

She leads him to an old apartment complex, in the run-down part of town. Namjoon is sweating buckets, his brown hair matted on the sides of his face. Luckily she lives on the first floor.

"Thank you, young man." She gives back the plastic bag.

He pushes it back at her.

"Those are for you granny."

Her eyes widen.  
"F-for me?"

He gives her a dimpled smile, feels his heart swell when she pats his cheek and thanks him. 

"I guess beneath all that, you've still got a good heart Kim Namjoon."

Namjoon freezes.

There's a twinkle in her eyes and suddenly, he's standing face to face with the man from the park.

He jerks back,  
"What the fuck?!"

Namjoon tries to run away, but he finds himself running through the clouds instead.

That's not normal.

"AHHHHHH!!!"

He flails his arms, feels his soul almost leave his body when he looks down to find Seoul's tall buildings and cars looking like the size of fireflies.

A windshield wiper laugh distracts him from his fainting spell.

He tries looking around for the source but his hands start shaking.

"You need to look up once in a while Kim Namjoon. Lighten up a bit tough guy."

Namjoon grits his teeth,  
"You don't tell me what to do pretty-boy."

"I prefer world-wide handsome but pretty is fine too."

Namjoon swings his fist at him but Seokjin blocks it. He tries to uppercut, roundhouse kick to no avail. 

Seokjin merely smiles while blocking and dodging his attacks. It almost seems like a game to him which pisses off Namjoon even more.

"Ah, here's our stop."

He grabs Namjoon's waist, pulling him close while the lanky boy yells curses and squirms in his grasp. They fly up on the largest fluffy white cloud in the night sky.

Namjoon slams against the cotton, mouth full of cloud stuffing. Seokjin laughing his ass off at the sight.

He spits out the weird gaseous taste in his mouth, ready to berate the irritating Fairy godfather. 

Seokjin strides across with Namjoon literally walking through the clouds. 

His jaw drops at the size and splendor of the giant castle before him. Its sparkling white tiles, each pagoda ornate with dragons on each corner. Two enormous winged dragon statues greeted Namjoon at the top of the large staircase.

"Impressive, isn't it."

Namjoon snaps his mouth shout, scowls at the sky. 

"Hmph."

They enter the compound. The modern interior catches Namjoon off- guard. Cool glass elevators and staircases, a robotic reception area and hundreds of other white-clad men and woman.

What really shocks (and irritates ) Namjoon, though, is the fact that every single person they pass by bows and greets Seokjin as if he owned the place. 

He ignores the smug aura emanating from the aforementioned pretty-boy.

They pass through several corridors and ride up a gold-laced elevator. There is only one button inside, Seokjin hums as he presses it.

Namjoon warily observes each floor they pass. Each looking far different than the rest; a light-blue floor full of clouds, another green-colored floor full of rainbows....

Was he drugged or something? 

He eyes Seokjin who's whistling a tune at this point. At first glance, the white-suit man looks normal. Or as normal as a model or actor in Korea would look like. He winks at him and Namjoon internally gags.

The elevator finally stops. Seokjin glides out to the hallway then turns to Namjoon reaching out his hand.

Of course Namjoon rolls his eyes at that. But the moment he steps out, he practically lunges at the pretty-boy. 

Seokjin holds his waist, pats his back,  
"There, there."

Namjoon mentally kicks himself. He just had to look at the damn floor.

The damn glass was so clear it was as if there was nothing there. Beyond it was the night sky and the entire continent of Asia in minute detail which made no sense to Namjoon's psyche after passing by about a hundred floors in the elevator.

He groans against Seokjin's shoulder,  
"I think I'm gonna puke.."

Suddenly, Seokjin's arm grips the bottom of his knees, the other supporting his back and Namjoon yelps as his body is lifted up. Seokjin smiling down at him. 

Namjoon curses, struggles against his grasp, but he's immediately swept away. There's a loud swooshing sound in his ears, his arms instinctively wrap around Seokjin's neck, gripping it tightly.

He shuts his eyes.

Out of sight, out of mind.

.  
.  
.

Twelve times nine is one hundred eight.

Twelve times ten is one hundred twenty.

Twelve times eleven is-

"....joon? Namjoon?"

Namjoon gasps for air. 

He's sitting by a high, oxford window with Seokjin kneeling in front of him.

"Just breathe in and breathe out..."

Namjoon listens to his soothing voice, focusing and breathing away the remnants of the nightmare he just had.

Seokjin doesn't mention anything. He goes about his business on his wide U-shaped desk. There's a stack of papers precariously perched beside his laptop. 

It's only in that moment that Namjoon really looks at him and realizes,

"You have wings!"

Seokjin nods his head,  
"Good to know."

Namjoon gapes at him, staring at the shimmering white gossamer wings protruding from his back. It flutters lightly and shiny bits of a glittery substance scatter and fade away as they fall.

Truth be told when Namjoon gets curious, there's no stopping him. The way he aced every class also meant he was a grade-A fool. So he walks over, entranced by the ethereal quality of it all. 

Was this a whole new sort of technology? A highly-developed prototype of some sort?

He reaches out and gently touches the thin edge.

It shines brightly, blinding him for a moment then disappears.

Namjoon's shakes his head, flabbergasted. 

"If your done admiring my amazingly beautiful, one-of-a-kind self..."

Seokjin swivels around his seat,  
"Don't you wanna know why I brought you here?"

.  
.  
.

"You've heard of Cinderella. The most popular rags to riches story on earth about an abused orphaned girl who gets her wish granted by a fairy godmother. Disney making that catchy song I love so much: Bibidi Bobidi Boop!"

Seokjin taps Namjoon's nose, guffawing at the stink-eye he receives from the boy.

"Sorry, sorry. I couldn't help myself..."

Namjoon scoffs.

"To put it simply, you humans got one thing right. If a person constantly speaks to the universe with their entire being. The heavens call on us fairy godparents and we are tasked to help the most desperate and deserving of them all."

He waves his hand in the air and a virtual screen appears in between them.

Namjoon's brows furrow,  
"Mom?"

His hand reaches through the virtual image of his mother sobbing on her bed. However it blurs around his skin, staticky movements till he realizes she isn't in the room with him.

"What you see is the start of your mother's prayers."

Seokjin's voice echoes across the dome-shaped room. 

Namjoon steps back, almost trips over the chair. The brightness around him slowly dims. His eyes frantically dart around the room, beads of sweat form at the crown of his head.

What was going on? 

"Where the fuck are you?!"

The walls around Namjoon disappear until he finds himself alone surrounded by pitch black darkness. The only source of light are his mother's memories projected before him. 

Namjoon can't look away, even as she breaks down in front of his father begging him to stay.

.  
.  
.


	2. 'It's quiet.'

"AAHHH!"

"Namjoon, shh it's okay," his mother wraps her arms around him, "Eomma is here, you're okay."

Namjoon sniffles into her blouse, nestling into the familiar warmth only mothers could have. 

She pats his head and hums a made-up melody. Her voice is slightly out of tune, but it's enough to lull Namjoon back to sleep.

When Namjoon wakes up this time, the bright mid-morning light shines across his wide bedroom. He rubs his puffy eyes and stares at the purple galaxy painted across the ceiling. 

Parts of the artwork was chipping off. It seems like he needed Hobi's painter friend's assistance again. 

Namjoon shrugs, elbows lifting himself up from the bed.

He peeks at his wall clock. 11:32 am. 

Good thing it was a Saturday. 

He glides towards his bathroom. 

It's when Namjoon glances at his reflection that the incredulous memories flash across his mind. He falls back, trips on his own two feet. 

He braces for impact until a gentle nudge pushes him back in place. 

Namjoon growls,  
"You!"

Seokjin grins, bowing regally,  
"Kim Seokjin, Fairy godfather, world-wide handsome prince of your dreams, at your service."

Namjoon grits his teeth, slams his fists against the sink and swings his arm at him. But the fairy godfather merely laughs, disappearing at impact and reappearing behind the angry boy. 

"What the fuck do you want from me you crazy ass fairy jerk?!" Namjoon yells, pointing his finger straight at the self-possessed man sitting atop the granite counter.

"First off," Seokjin looks around the clean, shiny marble walls, "this is one fancy bathroom you got here and your room is way bigger than what I ever had."

Namjoon rolls his eyes.

Ignoring him, Seokjin crosses his legs, there's a sparkle in his eye when he speaks, "Second, and most importantly, I've given you another chance."

He smiles when Namjoon's jaw drops.   
The dumbfounded expression on his face enough to send Seokjin into fits of windshield wiper laughter.

"What-another chance at what now?!"  
Namjoon stutters, confused and bewildered by Seokjin's words, he grabs his shoulders, " Pretty-boy, what are you trying to tell me? That you've turned back time? That I could have some kind of weird sci-fi-fantasy do-over?"

The blonde nods his head, laughter reduced to snorts and giggles, "Something like that..."

Namjoon steps back, scratches the back of his head. It dawns on him like the bright morning and his mother's warm embrace.

Shit.

He feels the familiar tug in his heart, the pressure rising from his lungs to his face. The prickly sensation in the corner of his eyes. 

He presses a hand on his chest, grips the fabric of his tshirt. 

'Eomma is here, you're okay.'

Namjoon never realized how much he needed her. How much space the little things could fill after years of being broken.

A cool touch opens his eyes. Seokjin quietly wipes away his tears.

"Why me?" Namjoon asks.

Seokjin cups his cheeks, holding his eyes with a gentle gaze,

"Because you're worth loving, Kim Namjoon. At least, that's what your mother always said."

.  
.  
.

"Three simple rules:  
1\. Don't harm yourself.  
2\. Don't harm others.  
3\. Don't fall in love with me.  
Understood?"

Namjoon purses his lips, "I get the first two but what does number 3 have anything to do with, well, anything?"

They stare at each other for a few moments.

Seokjin sighs as he hops down from the counter. He catches Namjoon's gaze and inches his way forward.

Alarmed at the sudden intensity in his eyes, Namjoon quickly turns around, grabbing the door handle to escape. However, Seokjin beats him to it, slams the door shut with the palm of his hand.

Seokjin's voice is an octave lower when he says, "If you turn around, I can tell you why it matters." 

And Namjoon, amidst the awkwardness of the entire situation, wonders how the fuck this preppy fairy boy could make a normal sentence sound so.....

Namjoon mentally slaps himself, and shouts straight into his ear,   
"Like hell I'd fall for a moron like you!"

Seokjin covers his ear, pouting at the pain, "Goodness! Why are you so loud?!"

Sticking his tongue out, middle fingers to the sky, Namjoon rushes out the door, ignoring Seokjin's distant complaints.

.  
.  
.

Based off of the happy family pictures on his bookshelf and the goofy photo booth pictures of his friends pinned on his grey bulletin board, Namjoon realizes this supposed "second chance" might be a new lifeline? An alternate dimension or universe?

Whatever that blasted Fairy godfather did, all that matters is what he has right now. 

His mother peeks into his room again, soft voice asking him what he'd like to have for brunch. 

Namjoon almost face plants against the door frame when his father pops up beside her, planting a kiss against her temple. He can't help the flash of terror on his face.

"Something wrong Joon?" His father reaches out to touch his forehead, but Namjoon swerves his way out of reach.

His father raises a concerned brow, his hand never letting go of his mother as she touches Namjoon's cheek, gentle touch on his sweaty forehead.

"You don't seem to have a fever. Is it your stomach?" She let's go, looks up at her husband and playfully elbows his side, "I told you we should've just brought him breakfast!"

"But I wanna eat together under the Sakura trees!" His father whines.

"Aigoo, you spoiled brat!" She pushes his father out into the hallway, "Just fry some bacon and eggs, and toast! Also, bring out the minute-maid, if you make fresh orange juice it'll take too long!"

What in the world was happening here?

His mother turns around, bright and bubbly, a radiant smile spread across her cheeks. She looks ten times happier than the furious, red-lipped woman from yesterday. 

No, it wasn't yesterday. 

Another lifetime ago. 

His real life; all those mistakes and hardships he endured. But what more for his Eomma? The last time he saw her, there was so much hurt and disappointment in her eyes.

He could only hope, she was okay...wherever she may be.

Sorry Eomma, for everything. 

He hugs the woman in front of him, living a happier life, a life his own Eomma could've had were it not for his mistakes. 

"Joonie, are you really feeling well? You gotta tell me, you're worrying your Eomma."

Namjoon bends over, rests his eyes on her soft shoulder. He mumbles out an apology.

She rubs his back, leans her head against his, "What are you apologizing for? You didn't do anything wrong."

His mother nudges his cheek, smiles at Namjoon when he finally lifts his head up, "Come on, let's bother Appa. I've got a camera and I'm not afraid to use it hahaha!"

Grabbing his arm, she leads him through the long hallway where portraits of each generation of his mother's family are displayed on the high gilded walls. They walk down the red carpeted staircase. The tall crystal chandelier distracts Namjoon from his confusing thoughts and emotions.

His father waves at the pair, effectively knocking over a bowl of pancake batter. It splatters against the dark wood counter and all over the right side of his torso. There's a goofy expression on his face as his mother rushes over, camera flashing everywhere. His father laughs then chases after her, his mother giggling and teasing him for his clumsiness.

It all seems too good to be true. 

Was he comatose again?

.  
.  
.

Apparently, in this life, he was the only son of an heiress and a top-class chef. Details that are not too far off from the parents he knew.

However, his real mom's family wasn't connected to nobility rather she was the only daughter of one of the largest mafia clans in South Korea. His real father was a cook at some dingy hole-in-the-wall restaurant where his mother frequented. They had a classic Uptown girl and small town boy story with a tragic twist.

Namjoon shudders at the unhappy memories he was forced to watch. 

After that pleasant brunch under the beautiful Sakura blossoms, a moment he'd never thought he would experience with his mom and dad ever, Namjoon scoped out the large house. Searching for more facts and information about the people in this timeline. A surprisingly easy task when he discovered a bunch of journals and photo albums stored in the attic. 

If his previous life was a dark fatalistic macabre-like drama of some sort, this life was a fucking fairytale with a happy Disney ending.

Having enough of this close-to perfection romance, Namjoon decided to take a walk around the neighborhood. Needing some space from the happy lovesick couple he now had to call his parents.

There were pine trees and Sakura trees in every corner, large manors and mansions sitting prettily on each street. 

He needed to get out of this clean mess, needed a bit of grit to calm his senses.

Luckily, he finds a bus stop. Scanning the map posted on the glass shed till he finds the directions to the downtown part of Seoul. 

He's the only person sitting on the bench, when a large green bus slows to a stop, the familiar hissing sound of its doors swinging open relieving some of the agitation in his mind.

He stares out the window, squinting against the blinding afternoon sun. The tall trees and fancy houses slowly morph into tall steel structures and trash-littered concrete. 

He jumps out of the bus, blending in with the crowds of people walking by. The loud chatter and the sizzling sounds of food puts his heart at ease. He stops by a tteobokki stall and willingly waits behind a long line of strangers. 

At least this part of town remained the same as before: wooden and metal stalls of a variety of street food on every part of the sidewalk, a bunch of idle students and rushing businessmen and women on their phones, ajhussis and ajhummas calling people to buy some vegetables and fish. 

He used to hate the chaos, the strange smell, opting to roam around the redlight district or an empty park, eating a bunch of junk food at a convenience store rather than squeeze through this crazy street.

Chewing on a hot rice cake, he finds an empty spot on the fountain. He weaves around a couple of people seated on the steps and sighs in contentment as he sits down on the cool surface.

"Nothing beats a hot snack on a cool spring afternoon." He sighs.

"You could say that again."

Namjoon almost chokes on a piece of rice cake. 

Seokjin places a bottle of water against his chest. 

"This is on me, no charge. Drink up kid."

Despite his incessant coughing, Namjoon glowers at him, ripping open the bottle cap and chugging the entire bottle down his throat. He crumples the plastic and shoves it at him.

Seokjin grabs at it,   
"Hey, hey, remember rule number 2?"

Namjoon huffs, "That's only for the people in this world, not for magical weirdos like you." He takes another bite out of his snack, miffed at the unwanted presence.

So much for a sense of normalcy.

"Sooo....how are you finding this life? Any issues? Complaints? Comments and suggestions?"

Seokjin snorts at his own joke while Namjoon stuffs another tteokbokki in his mouth and chews at it aggressively. 

"Anyway, heretofore, henceforward, etcetera, etcetera, I will be visiting you from time to time, on occasion, a daily basis, whenever you need a friend- "

Namjoon groans,  
"Get to the point already." 

Seokjin stands up and grins at him, "Actually, it'd be easier to give you the deets later! " 

He blows a flying kiss, winks and disappears, leaving an irate and befuddled Namjoon by the fountain.

.  
.  
.

Namjoon rides the bus back to his "home". His mother texts him, checking up on him. His heart swells a bit as he replies. 

Namjoon crosses his arms, watching the orange hues of the setting sun. He still doesn't know what to make of this strange situation. He glances at his phone, stares up at his reflection.

He's the one who lost his way, shouldn't his Eomma be the one living this happy life instead?

A slap to his back startles Namjoon out of his thoughts. He turns, ready to confront the rude bastard. 

"Hobi?! What the heck man!"

The brunette laughs, eyes smiling in amusement, "Ayo RM! You're thinking too much again bro!" he pats his head, "lighten up you dork!"

By the fountain, Namjoon looked through his phone. Apparently, Jung Hoseok or Hobi, was his best friend. This happy-go-lucky boy was also the star player of their high school's tennis team.

Namjoon glances at the tennis racket sticking out of his sports bag.  
"You had practice today?"

Hoseok shrugs, "Nah, I was just bored."

The bus jolts up for a second, Hobi's right hand grabbing the metal frame of Namjoon's seat, " So... ready to meet that Japanese exchange student tomorrow?"

Namjoon lifts a brow,   
"What exchange student?"

"For a genius, you're pretty forgetful," Hobi chuckles, "Remember? You signed up for that program at school, the one where your family would sponsor a kid from whatever country and like you have to live with a foreigner for half a year or something..."

Namjoon gapes at Hobi.

Hobi waves a hand at his face,   
"Earth to RM? You okay buddy?"

Namjoon had a really, really bad feeling about this.  
.  
.  
.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Please leave a comment☀️
> 
> #WriterInProgress


End file.
